Loss and your Heart.

This blog post is anything but easy. It invokes memories of loss and pain. Frustration. Anger. And yes, healing. There will be no sprinkling of humor or wit. It will be unvarnished truths that represent difficult times in my life where I questioned myself, my purpose, and sometimes the presence of God.

This entry is not meant to conjure tears or to make the reader upset. Instead, its purpose is to demonstrate the power of love, heart, and personal strength.

Ok, let’s “go there.”

A few weeks back, a reader of my website emailed me asking for advice. She had recently suffered a miscarriage and felt paralyzed by sadness and guilt. Her husband was quiet while he was navigating his own pain. She felt as though she was existing and not living. Her marriage was not in trouble, but now lacked what she had loved about her union with her spouse – that she could talk to her husband about nearly anything knowing that her best friend would be honest with her while helping to find solutions. Instead, both were mute. Their household was quiet. No real conversations. No sharing of feelings. Essentially, they were stuck.

When I initially read her email my physical response was a deep feeling of sadness. I had felt this type of pain myself. Five times.

With her permission, I am sharing my response:

Hello Claire and thank you for your email.

I know, firsthand the enormous level of courage it took to reach out to me. Loss of any kind is not easy, however, the death of a child – unborn or otherwise – is the most intense type of pain a living being can experience.

Before you read any further, please know that there will be brighter days ahead for you and your husband. Disappointment and subsequent emotional pain take time to process. The progression of heartache and pain to acceptance and healing could take days, weeks, months, or even years. However, the sharing of one’s pain and anger with people you trust expedites the process. Trust me when I write this.

I, too, have dealt with the unexpected end of a pregnancy. Initially, I blamed myself. I worked too much. I didn’t slow down. I drank an occasional cup of coffee. It must have been something I had done to cause this type of loss. Furthermore, my husband was silent. I interpreted his silence as quiet blame towards me. We really didn’t speak much of what happened. In fact, we avoided the subject almost altogether. Days turned into weeks and our marriage never really dealt with our heartache. It was almost as though our pregnancy had never happened. But it did.

Even though we didn’t speak about it at the time, individually we were processing our feelings. Then I said something during dinner one evening. “I’m scared to try again.” It was that moment that we started to talk about what had happened. Through our conversation, I realized Gene did not blame me for the outcome. He sincerely was trying to be sensitive to my feelings not knowing what to say himself. We talked. We reassured each other. We grew stronger as a couple. Our healing truly started with a single sentence.

A few months later we were pregnant again. We didn’t allow ourselves to become excited. In fact, Gene and I decided not to share our good news with anyone, including family, until we were assured the embryo was viable. Five weeks later, my second pregnancy ended. Again, no reasons or answers.

Three more pregnancies. Three more losses. I was broken. I felt as though having a baby was a distant, if not impossible reality. I felt as if I was a failure. The doctors I consulted did not have any answers either.

Emotionally I was broken. My husband tried to reassure me, but even the love of my life could not take my personal pain away. I felt as though I was existing in a dark storm cloud. Sad. Feeling uncertain. Defeated. I was on the verge of giving up.

I confided in a close friend who said all the usual things meant to give clarity to my situation:

“A miscarriage is a method God uses when one of his creations is not quite perfect,”

“Keep trying, it will happen,”

Or my personal favorite: “Just shake your disappointment off.”

I tried to conjure up a smile of sorts when hearing these absurd statements, but inside I was broken and hurting. I know my friend had good intentions, but I found myself irritated by these feckless words.

One evening my husband suggested taking an evening walk. This was his cue to me that he wanted to talk. Walking hand-in-hand he confronted my feelings. And his too. He thought I was depressed and needed help to “get unstuck.” He suggested scheduling a meeting with a counselor specializing in personal loss. With hesitation, I agreed.

Every Friday, for the next three months, I had an appointment with a grief counselor. I was guarded. I was scared. However, the specialist knew how to talk to me while addressing my heartache and frustration. Most importantly, she gave me permission to be angry. True healing had begun. The sun was slowly coming out again. The darkness was beginning to disappear.

Almost a year later I was pregnant again. Nearly thirty weeks later I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Two years after that our daughter was born.

Claire, my personal journey was long, difficult, and full of heartache. I cannot guarantee that my outcome will be yours. However, by being open and honest with your husband, misconceptions will be replaced with reassurance and hope. As important, please consider making an appointment with a counselor specializing in grief. Under the guidance of a professional, you will have a safe place to vent and release your anger while bringing into focus a future that will be fulfilling even if it’s not the way you initially imagined it.

Furthermore, do not assign blame. Please understand that even with the best of intentions bad things happen.

Free yourself. Trust your husband with your thoughts and feelings. Look forward. Heal.

Feel free to write again.

Blessings,

Ellen

Typically, I try to find a shred of optimism in even the direst of situations. At the time of my pregnancies and miscarriages, I could not imagine finding a speck of positivity from my personal losses. However, today as I reflect on that period of my life, I realize how strong I was and how much stronger I am today. Furthermore, I am in a position to understand and empathize with others with similar stories; I am a voice of compassion and understanding. Although this realization is a mere sliver of hopefulness, it is an important one. For myself. For others.

Today, I write about pregnancy and loss as a result of a series of miscarriages. However, there are countless other types of loss that bring about anger, frustration, and fear. These might include the death of a loved one, job loss, divorce, or illness. Whatever the situation, embrace what you are feeling and share with someone you trust. Strongly consider seeking professional support. Getting “unstuck” does not come easily. Nevertheless, I implore you to find a sliver of inner strength to reach-out, find, and initiate receiving help. The first step of healing is generally the most difficult. Accept that emotional recovery is never easy, but well worth the process.